


Rhyme and Reason

by Bonfoi



Series: the original The Silver Snitch stories [13]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, EWE, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Hogwarts Era, M/M, One Shot, Post-War, Romance, Second War with Voldemort, Sexual Content, Smut, allusions to torture, post—hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 02:41:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1288231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bonfoi/pseuds/Bonfoi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day Draco Malfoy realized he had choices, the world as we know it changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rhyme and Reason

**Author's Note:**

> Originally Published: 2006.06.04 on The Silver Snitch. Reposted to my IJ account in celebration of ten years of Harry and Draco together, I thought I’d repost an early fic. Four years ago seems like a lifetime in fan fic, but it’s been a growing experience. Many thanks to everyone who’s helped me by reading and commenting over the years!

It takes strength to change the course of your life, to make a choice you never thought you had.

§¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪

**_Disclaimer: ___**The world of Harry Potter, its characters and settings are the copyrighted works of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., her publishing companies and affiliates. No profit was made from the writing of this story nor was any malice intended in any way, shape or form to the author or the actors/actresses who so brilliantly have brought them to life.

This author is not responsible for underage readers. Please observe the ratings, warnings, and age of legal consent for your country.

§¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪

In honor of Draco Malfoy’s birthday, 5 June 1980.

* * *

_Monday’s child is fair of face,_  
Tuesday’s child is full of grace,  
Wednesday’s child is full of woe,  
Thursday’s child has far to go,  
Friday’s child is loving and giving,  
Saturday’s child works hard for his living,  
And the child that is born on the Sabbath day  
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay. 

**As seen in a book of Mother’s Goose’s Nursery Rhymes**

 

June 5, 1980 was a Thursday. July 31, 1980 was a Thursday as well.

§¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪

Draco Malfoy was more than they saw…he was tender to those he loved, even when he spewed the vitriol he didn’t truly believe…he was strong, even if he cringed from his father’s ire…he loved, even when he plotted his love’s downfall…

One day, long after the furor of Potter’s disappearance—and that of his two sidekicks—Draco came to the conclusion that he **could** choose the path he was on. It was an epiphany that literally hit him on the head as he was ducking and weaving through a dark copse outside of Warwick Castle. The large oak branch had appeared out the gloaming without warning, and his aristocratic head had cracked against it like a commoner’s—or a Muggle’s.

When he woke up, he was alone. Not that that was anything new, he’d been alone since Snape had dragged him from Hogwarts. Now, running through dank, gloomy woods…that was a new twist on a painful story. 

Groaning quietly, Draco blinked and watched faint trails of stars and clouds slowly fade until his sight was back to normal. He stared up at the dark outline above him, glaring for all he was worth, but to no avail—the branch merely kept being a solid arm of oak. He grimaced and levered himself up, scooting towards the bole of the same tree that harbored such a sneaky branch.

Tucked between the roots of the wicked oak, he shivered, but it was warmer there, out of the wind, and out of sight. For some odd reason, he felt…safe…as he huddled there, wrapped in two stolen cloaks, wishing for some warm cream tea. The random _plunk_ of acorns as they fell through the leaves, the skittering of small animals, all this wasn’t frightening; in fact, he thought it soothing to his frazzled nerves.

As he drifted off to sleep, he realized he had chosen to stay there. Even though the branch had stopped his forward momentum, the tree as a whole was sheltering him, protecting him. That led to jumbled memories of Potter laughing, Potter crying, Potter caring…Dumbledore offering him a choice…his mother’s Unbreakable Vow of Snape that he chose to honor…Weasley and Granger’s choice to follow after Potter…Choices, choices, choices! Every time he looked, there were choices going on around him: Potter **chose** to be a caring, passionate Gryffindor; his two sidekicks **chose** to follow him; Dumbledore actually **chose** to stand and die; he, Draco Malfoy, **chose** to let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts... He grimaced in his sleep as he became aware that he could choose something else… _He could **choose** something else!_ With that last thought, he fell into the first relaxed sleep since his bed in the Slytherin Dungeons.

§¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪

The incessant rat-a-tat-tat of a woodpecker nearby woke Draco to the new day. Sometime in the night, he had shifted himself so that his head was pillowed on a cloak laid over a root, curled against the oak. He only knew he was in some stand of trees, still in the United Kingdom, but after that, it was anyone’s guess. He’d slipped from Snape’s clutches weeks ago, Apparating blindly, out of fear. He was just lucky that he hadn’t Splinched himself in some Muggle’s chimney!

“Urgh! Why are mornings so bright and early?” he mumbled. He slowly rearranged his body, vertebra by vertebra, until he was finally sitting upright against the trunk. Patting his pockets, then the pockets of the cloaks he wore, he found a small wheel of cheese, a hunk of salted meat, and, lo and behold, a flask that sloshed! After eating his breakfast, and finding out that the flask contained elderberry wine, he put the other half of the cheese wheel and one last hunk of meat into one pocket, and spelled it closed so he wouldn’t lose it if he had to run again.

_** Brrraaapp! **_

The burp had crept up on him, astonishing him so much that he fell over to his side. His eyes had widened comically and his mouth dropped open in surprise. The birds twittering above his head stopped, then they resumed their noise, only louder. A stray acorn bounced off of his head, adding to his discomfort. At least no wizard had been there to see his fall from grace.

“Malfoy!?”

§¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪

_How many miles to Babylon?_  
Three score and ten.  
Can I get there by candlelight?  
Aye, and back again.  
If your feet are nimble and light,  
You'll get there by candlelight.

**As seen in a book of Nursery Rhymes**

 

Leaning against another tree—if he had known, it was a rowan—was Harry Sodding Potter!

“How the hell did you find me, Potter?” Draco’s voice was rough, as if he hadn’t enough water for weeks. He never stood up, but sat straight against the tree trunk, scruffy but regal.

“Damned if I know…. Last I knew, I was at the Giant’s Causeway chasing Peter Pettigrew.” The bruises along one side of Harry’s face stood out in vivid yellow and green limned with some blue-black. His ever-present spectacles were different, narrower and more modern than before.

“Why aren’t your glasses broken, Four-eyes?”

Harry made a moue of distaste at the name, but answered civilly enough as he slid down to rest amongst the rowan’s roots. “Hermione dragged me to an optical wizard. He gave me new glasses—Muggles call them ‘safety lenses’—but, these glasses are stronger, spelled to stay on, infused with charms against breakage and disappearance, and…why am I telling you all this?”

Draco took a better look at his school-boy nemesis. The brunet was looking more battered than Draco felt. The bruises on his face were matched by those on his hands and probably other places he couldn’t see. The white of one eye was actually red, probably meaning there was blood in it. The nails on two fingers of one hand were completely gone, and Draco didn’t want to ask how that had happened; he gingerly rubbed at the index finger of his left hand and remembered Antonin Dolohov pulling it out with a cackling laugh. For once, he and Potter had something obvious in common.

Clearing his throat, Draco realized he’d been staring. “Umm…not to be picky, Potter…But, why aren’t you killing me?” They’d actually been chatting quite amiably—for them—and that just convinced Draco the world really had ended while he was sleeping.

“Not to be a bore, Malfoy, but you aren’t part of the equation anymore.” Harry stared at a point above his head; there was a small cluster of bright red mistletoe above the shaggy blond head…how odd. “When Ron was taken by Dolohov, we went after him. I saw you looking at my hand, and I know he did the same to you. He won’t hurt anyone ever again…Hermione saw to that.” Draco found that he didn’t want to ask; the witch had been the smartest to grace the halls of Hogwarts in decades, and she probably knew more spells than most students would ever attempt.

Draco scratched his shoulder blades against the bark, pursed his lips and asked, “Sooo…Does that mean the Light wizards and witches won’t cast _Avada Kedavra_ on me on sight?” He caught himself itching and blushed at Harry’s raised eyebrows.

Harry’s eyebrows slowly lowered back to their normal position. He really couldn’t see Malfoy as well as he should, the right eye was filled with blood and throbbed with each beat of his heart. He wasn’t mad at the silly git anymore, not after that informative session with Dolohov. Inside, he squirmed at what had happened to Hermione—that should never happen to anyone, but, to have her hurt like that... No, Draco Malfoy wasn’t a voluntary Death Eater like the scum, Dolohov, or even his awful father, Lucius; he was a boy that had been sucked under by events…like Harry, like Hermione, like Ron.

“Malfoy,” the name came out with no slur attached, “you were only a pawn; first, of your father, and then of Voldemort.” He saw the wince and involuntary movement towards Draco’s left forearm. “I know you have the Dark Mark, Malfoy…Draco…” He sighed and closed his eyes. “I’ve met more people with the Dark Mark who aren’t Dark than I ever thought possible. I’ve grown up, Malfoy. I can’t hate everyone; they don’t deserve it.” He garbled his last words and fell asleep, right in front of someone that had been trying to hurt him for years.

Draco wriggled into a more comfortable spot. Just twelve feet away was the bane of his life…no, not the bane, just the poster boy for a side he’d never considered before. Well, not without a sneer and his father’s words coloring everything. He could redeem himself with Voldemort and the Death Eaters if he captured the prat serenely passed out in front of him. He could parlay Potter into safe passage to America or Australia, anywhere Voldemort wasn’t. Or…he could sit here, watching the tired Boy Who Lived until he woke, and learn more. He had a choice.

§¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪

_Star light, star bright,_  
First star I see tonight,  
I wish I may, I wish I might,  
Have the wish I wish tonight.

**As seen in a book of Nursery Rhymes**

 

“Malfoy…Draco…wake yer arse up!” A pointy finger poked Draco’s sore ribs, but gently.

“Wah? Is dark…” Draco had been getting feverish as the day grew longer, until he succumbed, and slipped into a tossing, turning sleep. He couldn’t open both eyes anymore; the fact that one had been scratched during his run through the woods could have had something to do with that. And, the torture he’d undergone before Snape had spirited him away from Dolohov’s _tender care_ —which he assumed Hermione Granger had made certain no one would ever have to endure again—hadn’t been taken care of, and sleeping under an oak in the wilds of Britain hadn’t helped.

He thought he felt strong arms cradle him close. It was a feeling he didn’t remember since childhood, when his mother had been more in charge of his life, cuddling him when he cried, hugging him when he brought her an overblown flower. He floated in a dream world where he was protected by a golden knight whose armor was littered with bright emeralds. It made him smile and sigh, amazing the young man carrying him through the Forest of Arden, not that he’d know that until later.

A faint breeze flowed around the two of them as Harry carried his burden around hills and through dales. It carried a hint of apple blossoms and lilacs; Harry thought this was out of the ordinary since it was November, but he’d found that magic had a mind of its own. He simply took a deep breath every so often and kept walking. Draco never became heavier; Harry never became tired; the day never changed, only the landscape—it was as if the very Forest of Arden was helping them on their journey.

As the scents faded away, so too did Harry’s abnormal strength. Yet, he drove himself further, just a few steps, to rest the two of them under the spreading branches of a venerable oak, oldest of all the oaks in the Forest.

Draco’s dreams were bright with promise, something he had given up after he’d been branded. His knight—he’d known he fancied blokes, but never had the chance to really experience anyone—had fought off a dragon for him. Laid out in front of him was a hulking carcass, the massive maw open at an unnatural angle and one of the eyes plucked from its very socket. There were red scales, the size of men, scattered all over the ground, and in the middle of it all stood Draco’s Golden Knight. Draco always admired a man in uniform, but, a man in a fitted magical suit of armor was ruddy fantastic; the sun glinted off the polished armor, not dulled even by the dragon blood and gore smeared over it. When he took his helm off, Draco saw who was in that glorious steel can…it was Harry Potter! In his dream, Harry grinned and winked at Draco, who somehow was dressed as a Medieval courtier, all silks and velvets. It was the ecstatic hug and the glorious kiss that had Draco’s head swimming…and his eyes opening to see that same face with its one bloody eye looking concernedly at _him_.

“…aco…Draco…Please, wake up…” Harry begged.

“Po…Potter…” A tumbler of cool water was pressed to his lips, and the refreshing beverage flowed down his parched throat. After a few moments, he licked his lips and tried to talk again.

“Potter…where?”

“Where are we? Well, funny thing…somehow we ended up in the Forest of Arden, miles from where I started, don’t know about you, though. Seems that strange things happen in that forest, and I carried you out of it after a bit.” Harry’s cheeks, no longer bruised, flushed with a faint blush. “I…um…Draco…I, well, I had to tell the mediwizards that you were my husband, so we could get you treated. I hope that you won’t raise a damned fuss about it?” Harry’s bright green eyes behind those new glasses seemed to asking another question, one Draco decided he’d answer…after all, he had a choice.

“Yes, Harry, that was all right,” he whispered. As Harry began to turn away, he almost missed Draco’s next faint words, “Thank you, love.”

It took two weeks for the two of them to heal up enough to convince the mediwizards of the small village that they were fit to travel. A local charity had replaced some of their clothes, and even spotted ten galleons each; they both thanked everyone very prettily. So it was on a Thursday that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy set off together.

§¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪

_Curly Locks, Curly Locks,_  
Will you be mine?  
You shall not wash dishes,  
Nor feed the swine,  
But sit on a cushion  
And sew a fine seam,  
And sup upon strawberries,  
Sugar, and cream.

**As seen in a book of Nursery Rhymes**

 

“Damn you, Riddle! Just bloody well die!” Harry screamed. 

He’d traveled to France with Draco, searching for someone as respected as Ollivander when it came to wands. He found Monsieur Le Comte Poisson de Vere, a Muggleborn aristocrat who just happened to come from a long line of wand-makers. Within one week, Le Comte had three wands for Harry to choose from, and another for Draco. Harry found that two of the three were compatible and bought them, as well as Draco’s. Another week was spent researching with Louvre magical archivists for ancient spells, and the two of them had returned to the United Kingdom.

The spells that they came armed with got a test when Ron Weasley, half out of his head with worry, began cursing Draco. Harry, ever the savior, stepped forward and got hit with a strange combination of Bat Bogey Hex and a Furnunculus Curse; he fell like a log, quivering and jerking in pain as he hit the ground. Draco was casting from both wands, until he finally had Weasley pinned to a wall and silenced, with Hermione Granger bound next to him. Harry’s power had been enough to get him out of the two spells, but, he’d needed the time Draco gave him.

“What the hell was that, Ron?” Harry limped a bit as he shoved his finger into Ron’s heaving chest. “You didn’t even ask me ‘why’ before you started hexing me! Me, Ron, not some Death Eater, not some stranger…ME, Harry Potter!” He stepped back, away from his two best friends, shaking with emotion.

Draco had spent enough time with Harry to understand that he needed time to breathe, time to think, or he’d do something he’d regret. “So, Weasley, why are you trying to kill the hope of the Wizarding World? You know he can throw off the _Imperius_ Curse, and you most definitely know he doesn’t consort with Death Eaters, so why the sudden urge to turn him inside out?” Draco tried to keep his voice light, but, by the last word, he was hissing.

Draco lifted the _Silencio_ from Weasley, braced for invective. “Harry Potter hates Draco Malfoy. We all know this. There is no way the real Harry Potter would willingly bring Malfoy into our safe house, near Hermione and me. Hell, anywhere near the Order! This is just a fucking lie!” Weasley spit at Draco, missing him only because Draco had read the motion before it happened.

“Damn, Weasley, since when did you choose to **not** trust Harry? Time changes everything, because we all have choices. And, we can choose to change…I did. I chose to start looking at the Light; I chose to believe that there was room for difference; we just had to find a better way to go about it. But, you…you’re his friend? How can you be his friend when you don’t really trust him?”

“You weren’t there, Malfoy. You didn’t…” Ron gulped in a breath of air, trying not to cry. “ **I heard what Dolohov did to Hermione!** ” he growled. At the whimper from Hermione, Draco set her free, kneeling down to see her eyes.

“Granger, I was there before you. I spent a month with Dolohov and my uncle Lestrange. You aren’t alone.” He wasn’t certain if she really heard what he was saying; Dolohov had had _special_ tortures for Muggleborn witches, things that made the other Death Eaters, including Bellatrix, vomit.

It was the tentative hand that she held out to Draco that made him realize that his choices now were not hurtful. She launched herself into his arms, sobs wracking her too thin body. From the looks on Harry and Weasley’s faces he knew she hadn’t mourned yet. Nodding to Harry, Draco backed away from Weasley with Hermione still in his arms. He’d seen a settee when they walked in, and he settled there, talking quietly to the broken woman on his chest.

Weasley was stunned. That was his woman on Malfoy’s chest, weeping fit to drown the kingdom. Sure, he knew she was strong, but, he hadn’t been tortured by Dolohov; his own brother, Percy, had had that privilege and since he had a weak stomach, Ron’s bruises were the most superficial of the trio. Why hadn’t she come to him, told him what was wrong? Ron’s voice broke as he shouted, “Why? Why couldn’t I help?”

Harry released him with a word of warning, and went to sit on Hermione’s other side. He didn’t attempt to touch her or Draco; he was just there for support. Ron slid down the wall, watching the threesome on the settee. Malfoy was actually holding Hermione like he cared. Her sobs had slowed down, and she was hiccupping but responding to some muttered questions Draco had asked. Her body language was relaxing, and it seemed as if her pain was finally easing.

After half an hour, Harry leaned over and asked Hermione and Draco something; they both nodded and looked at Ron. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t gone for his wand, hadn’t done anything but watch them. “Ron? Ron, look at me,” Harry ordered. “Can you stay calm and talk to us?” He indicated Draco. “All of us?”

Numb, Ron only nodded. His world had been severely changed that day they were captured, but, this…this was tilting it on its axis. “I’ll try…Harry, Hermione…” He stared at the only blond in the room, “Malfoy.”

Over the next day and night, they told of their experiences with the Death Eaters and those while they were separated. Weasley found out about Harry’s new wands, the new _old_ spells, the adventure in the Forest of Arden, and Draco’s revelations about choice. Harry added bits here and there, but Draco carried the bulk of the tales. Next, Hermione haltingly told them—finally—what Dolohov had done to her; now Ron knew why she had shied away from his touches, and they both cried together, something they needed to do. Harry had scooted closer to Draco, comfortable enough to lean on him a bit as his two best friends began to heal. Draco’s heart seemed to swell as he realized he’d helped them do that.

“Look…we need to get some rest.” Harry looked at Draco. “All of us. I’ll take first watch, Draco next. When do you want, Hermione? Ron?” Potter’s eyes were mere slits as he began parse out times. 

After everyone had taken a few hours for their watch, Harry sat in the window seat, brooding over what was going to happen now. Draco could see it from where he was laying by the fireplace; they’d sent off Weasley and Granger to another room to rest. He would lay odds that Potter would attempt to take Weasley’s watch, or at least a portion of it. He woke up four hours later to Harry’s gentle prodding and took his watch; he’d fool Harry and take Weasley’s watch himself; they all needed the rest more than he did.

Eight hours later, Hermione stepped out to see Draco on watch and Harry bundled up on the settee. She shook her head at Malfoy’s wry grin and waved him back to his blanket by the fireplace. She took her place on the window seat, double-checking the warding spells and marveling at the strengthening charms that had been added. Draco could feel her assessing glance on him as he tucked himself up; it came back to him again and again until he slipped into sleep.

§¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪

The next morning, Weasley woke up grumbling. Then he saw how bright it was and crept out to the living room. There he found Hermione still on watch as Harry began to wake up, and even Malfoy started muttering about the new day. Without a word, he turned around and headed to the kitchen. There, he threw together a breakfast of tomatoes, boiled eggs, toast and jam; he even set a kettle on the hob for some tea, and when it whistled, he charmed it to follow along with cups, plates and napkins as he carried the tray with the food.

The three in the living room were all awake, and smiled at the sight of breakfast. Ron’s ears were red when Hermione stepped up and gave him a kiss on the cheek. The muffled chuckles from the other two in the room went unnoticed as Ron dropped the tray on the settee for Harry to catch, and twirled Hermione around and around. All told, it was a grand day to be alive.

They hammered out plans to contact the Order of the Phoenix, something that Ron was against. He didn’t raise his voice as he once would have, but, he laid out points that others would bring up against Malfoy. Harry looked at him and grinned; Ron was a great strategist when he put his mind to it.

“Ron, you’re a wonder, you are!” Harry crowed. Hermione and Draco looked at him as he reached over to shake Ron’s hand. “What? I can’t be glad my best mate is growing up with me? C’mon, people, we’ve got a war to start winning.” Harry vanished the crumbs from breakfast while Hermione got their blankets folded. 

Draco drew Ron aside and asked if he’d heard anything about other Slytherins coming over to the Light side; he saw the gears turning in Weasley’s head and cut him off before he got started, “Weasely, don’t ruin your good start. I was just curious; there had been rumors in Slytherin of some students who were planning a run from the Dark Lord. I was merely curious to know if they made it.” He could see Ron struggling to give him the benefit of the doubt and did something he wouldn’t ever have done before.

He shrugged off his robe and rolled up his left sleeve. There on his left forearm was the Dark Mark, but it was changed; there was a golden lance speared through both the snake and the skull. Ron had never seen anything like it, and reached out to touch the evil tattoo. Draco stood there passively, he knew it wouldn’t hurt, his Golden Knight had slain that dragon…and soon, they’d slay the real dragon in their lives.

“What happened? How did you change it? I’d never heard of anything changing the magic of the Dark Mark.” Ron’s voice held all the wonder of a child; here was something very, very special in front of him.

Rolling his sleeve back down, Draco smirked—not like he had in school, but it was still a smirk—and looked at Harry describing a spell to Hermione on the other side of the room. “Let’s just say that my knight in shining armor took the direct route, shall we?” His smirk changed to a grin and he winked at Weasley.

§¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪ §¤§₪

**:: Epilogue, Four Years Later ::**

 

Draco Malfoy kissed Harry Potter as if he were air and the blond had been deprived far too long, sucking in everything that Harry was. They were standing in a grove of oaks and rowans in the middle of the Forest of Arden. The mistletoe seemed redder and brighter than they had last seen it. The birds never stilled as the ceremony had unfolded, and as if in a back-handed benediction, only Harry and Draco were beaned with stray acorns as it ended.

Hermione was officiating; she’d gone on after the war to become a practicing druidess as well as a Spell Researcher with Monsieur Le Comte Poisson de Vere, traveling back and forth every other week since Ron wouldn’t let his wife out of his sight for longer. The position of Hogwarts Professor of Strategy had been created for Ron at the urging of Harry and Hermione; Draco had been the one to push him to accept since it had been most of his strategic plans that achieved the majority benefits against the Death Eaters.

All around them were survivors: Aurors, Order members, even a Slytherin or three that had also taken another choice, every one of them a friend. The scent of apple blossoms and lilacs surrounded the happy couple as they took the third set of vows in as many days. Each one had satisfied some kind of law: Muggle, Wizard, and Ancient.

After accepting everyone’s well-wishes, Draco Malfoy-Potter and his spouse, Sir Harry Potter—he’d been knighted for service to the Crown for his defeat of Voldemort and his efforts to help Death Eaters who wanted it—Apparated to Salisbury Plain. Draco had convinced Harry to spend their wedding night at Stonehenge for luck, and Harry couldn’t turn him down…after three weddings, he would finally get his wedding night, and he really didn’t care where it was!

“So, Potter…” Draco purred. The name that had once been said as an epithet was now an endearment, and Harry wouldn’t have it any other way. “Care to count the stars with me? You’ve slain my dragons, you’ve helped my friends, you’ve even gotten your friends to accept me, and now you’ve married me, three times, mind you. What are you going to do to top that?” 

Over the past four years, Harry and Draco had filled out and grown older. At 21, they were as fit as they’ve ever been. They were also newlyweds, and what newly-minted husband worth his salt wasn’t salivating for his mate? “Why, Mr. Malfoy-Potter…I think I’ll make slow, passionate, bone-melting, satiating love to you in one of the most magical places in the kingdom. Will that top the three weddings?” He grinned and stood on tip-toe to kiss his husband who had had a growth spurt and overtopped him by two whole inches now. Draco bent his head slightly to enjoy Harry’s kiss, and the questing tongue that came after it, licking and tasting.

“Why don’t we find our spot for star-gazing and see about making some stars of our own, Sir Potter?” Now, Draco was the one to pick Harry up, cradling him over his heart—and casting a surreptitious, and wandless—feather-weight charm. “It’s wonderful to have my own knight, you know, Potter. Especially one that can get special dispensation for such a special night and at such a special place.” He stepped into the center of the standing stones and felt the brush of ancient magic as it flowed around them. Beltane Night was a very extraordinary night, and to have Harry here with him would make even more special.

A white tent gently waved in the breeze, just waiting for them. The roof had been charmed to show the night sky and all the stars spilling across the dark expanse. Harry reached up for Draco’s head and drew him down for another kiss, this one deeper and more passionate than their first. Draco let his husband’s body slide down his, letting his mate feel how excited he was. A moan wove its way into the breeze, but neither one could tell who made it; they were touching and undressing each other for the first time. The war had never let them really be long enough for full-out sex, only stolen touches snatched from the jaws of fighting and surviving. They had each touched each other, but never like this, never with so much time to savor the moment, never so naked outside and in.

When their clothes where finally gone, Draco felt the heat rolling off Harry’s body. It warmed him, soothed him, and it drew him. His hands couldn’t get enough to the brunet’s athletic body, touching and pinching, calming and enticing. It was the first time outside of a bath or the shower that he was touching Harry _everywhere!_

“Oh, gods, Draco…” gasped Harry. Only Draco knew he was ticklish at the juncture of his leg and butt, and he relished making his lover squirm, which led to him rubbing up and down, driving Draco’s desire even higher. The squeals and moans they both let out fed the other; it was a wonderful loop they were stuck in.

“Harry…Harry…I love you!” Draco’s kiss devoured Harry, taking his essence in and return it mixed with his own. His own Golden Knight was like fire in his arms, liquid gold mixing with his own quicksilver.

They fell to their knees, worshiping each other in the very center of the standing stones. The swirl of Ancient magic grew stronger as they both approached the peak of desire, but Harry suddenly stopped and grabbed Draco’s hands. His head fell against his husband’s heaving chest, his breath cooling some of the sweat he raised on Draco’s body. “Draco…not like this…I want…” Harry’s whisper faded off, then he began again. “I want you to love me, completely. And, if it’s possible, I want to do that to you as well. I want to do this **right**.”

Breathing through his nose, Draco tried to calm himself. Harry wanted him to take _him_ , to love _him_ …thoroughly and well, he hoped. He knew his Harry had never done anything more than jerking him off or letting Draco watch while he brought himself to completion. Here, in this sacred place, Harry wanted to do things right, for them, for the ancients. “Oh, yes, Harry…I will love…thoroughly…” he muttered against his brunet lover’s lips, then he stole his breath again.

Mumbling a spell without releasing Harry’s lips, Draco summoned a small pot of lubricant. He’d spoken with Slughorn and Snape, getting their input on all sorts of potions, and as a gift, both Potions masters had given him recipes for great pleasure and less pain. He was certain his Knight would appreciate the thoughtfulness of the gesture, when he was coherent and returning the favor.

He pulled a set of wedding robes towards him, and then laid Harry down on them, sprinkling love-bites all over his golden skin as he began relaxing the brunet. For four years, he’d been dreaming of staking his claim to Harry in such a way that no one would ever doubt how much he’d changed nor how much he loved Harry, not Harry Potter the Savior, just Harry. The three weddings had been the public side of that wish; tonight, on Salisbury Plain, in one of the most ancient and sacred sites of the Wizarding World, he was going to make certain the unseen world knew the depth of his devotion to Harry.

Soft strokes turned Harry into a mass of nerves and moans, ready and willing for whatever Draco was going to do to him, with him. The first finger to breach Harry had him gasping, the second finger had him beginning to impale himself, and the third finger brushed his prostate and had the brunet howling. Harry’s mewls of discontent when he withdrew his fingers stopped when he pressed his cock into the loosened quoit. As he gently pressed in, he held his breath, just like Harry. He could feel his husband pushing out, doing what they had talked about for months before their wedding. Suddenly, he was balls’-deep inside Harry, surrounded by more than heat, more than skin and muscle…he was surrounded by his lover, his Harry!

“M-m-move…” Harry begged. He even flexed his muscles, squeezing Draco’s cock in a rippling motion. “Please?” Draco didn’t reply, but he complied with a twist and a snap of his hips. Harry’s mouth opened, his eyes drifted shut, and he let himself just…go! His legs tightened around Draco’s waist, hugging him close, and his arms were reaching everywhere, touching Draco’s chest, his shoulders, drawing his head down to suck the very air from his lungs.

Blood pumping, chest heaving, Draco looked down at his husband, HIS HUSBAND! He, Draco Malfoy-Potter had brought the flush of passion to Harry Potter’s skin; it was **him** that had Harry panting and tossing his head in abandon; it was **him** Harry looked to to assuage his fire; and, it was **him** that would be doing that for the rest of their lives. He reached down and began fisting Harry’s cock, fingers entwined with his lover’s as they stroked and pulled and twisted until Harry whimpered and tensed, then he came in a rush, shouting Draco’s name to the heavens. **”DRACOOO!”**

Draco wasn’t far behind; as Harry bore down, he drove himself in and out like a piston, coming moments after Harry, filling him with the evidence of his love. “Harry…” he whimpered against the salty skin of Harry’s shoulder. Barely conscious of doing it, the blond slowly slipped from Harry’s still tight channel, come dribbling out to trail down across Harry’s balls. Wandlessly, Draco cleaned them up, unaware that the night air was warmer than it should have been, but all his attention was on his satiated husband and the grin on his relaxed face.

Curling around him, he kissed Harry’s cheek, sighing out, “Thank you, love.”

Mumbling, Harry turned his head to respond with a kiss and a comment. “Welcome, love.”

If they had been aware of their surroundings, they would have seen each of the standing stones of Stonehenge glowing a soft rose color. The stars dimmed in the light, but the couple protected by the spirits slept on peacefully. After all, they had earned it, for themselves and for their generation.

  
**~~~ Finis ~~~**

_~~~ Comments, like rain in the desert, are greatly appreciated.  
Thank you for reading. ~~~_   



End file.
